


Our charming and singular things

by crookedspoon



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: Bruce does not forget. This very ritual is to remind himself of what he lost once.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61





	Our charming and singular things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Salmonellagogo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmonellagogo/gifts).



> Written for the prompt Q. "One missed call" from [this tumblr list](https://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/post/613952993141882880/send-me-characters-and-a-letter-and-ill-write).

Bruce runs his thumb over the walkman's scuffed casing. It's a faded black and had seen better days even before it ended up in his custody. As usual, the buttons stick and need more force applied before the tape squeaks like sneakers on a freshly waxed floor as it rewinds.

He has pressed REWIND and PLAY so many times, it borders on a miracle that the buttons still work at all. If the apparatus were to break, it would break something in him, too. He could most likely take it apart and fix it, make it better than new, but it would feel wrong.

It's a memento. Its sentimental value comes from the meaning he ascribes it. The meaning that is becoming greater with each time he plays the tape, because each time he plays the tape, he is in deep need of comfort. Over the years, the act of listening has become ritualized. Bruce reclines in his armchair, the very same armchair he sat on when a bat crashed through his window one fateful night. The headphones are cheaply made -- nothing more than a thin metal band holding together two ear cups covered in foam and a pair of cords snaking down to connect to the walkman itself -- yet he picks them up reverently as though they were a relic of forgotten times.

Bruce, however, does not forget. No, this very ritual is to remind himself of what he lost once.

He presses play.

_Hey, uh, B. It's me. Jason. Um, this is awkward. I already wrote you a letter explaining why I had to leave, but I wanted to hear your voice one last time. To tell you goodbye in person. I mean. It's only gonna be for a bit. I'll be back. I just want you to know that. You've probably already read my letter by the time you get this, but. It's not you, okay? It's not because I didn't enjoy the time we spent together as... well, you know who. I want to go back to that when I come back. If you'll still have me. This is just... this is something that I have to do. You understand that, don't you? I hope you're not mad. Anyway, gotta go now. Flight's real soon. Don't worry about me, okay? I've got this. Say hi to Alfred for me._

A plethora of emotions he usually keeps buried under layers of discipline and self-restraint swirl through him as he listens. He sits with them, like with old acquaintances, and lets himself feel them all.

His exhale is shaky by the time the recording is through, his fingers trembling. The walkman nearly slips from his lap when he attempts to press stop.

His heart is hammering. He could already see the device splintering into pieces on the wooden floor. It is not the one Jason has owned so many years before, the one that had been given to him by his mother for his birthday years before that, already used, but all the more precious because it was a gift from her. She must have put aside money she used for buying drugs to save up for it or so Jason told himself.

He had clung to it ferally, because it was a piece of her kindness he could carry around -- he even brought it on his journey to find his biological mother, not willing to part with what he had left of the mother he had known all his life. Bruce had found it in his hotel room later.

That walkman is locked securely in a case somewhere. The one in his lap was merely an accidental but perhaps fortuitous purchase at a yard sale he found himself walking past during a stakeout. It may not be Jason's, but hearing Jason's voice through it has made it as precious to him as though it were.

He listens to it whenever he misses Jason most.

By the time he locks the walkman back into its safe and he's composed again, a soft knock

"Sir," he says as he steps into the study, "I hope you will forgive the intrusion during your hour of privacy, but I thought it would be remiss of me if I did not at once inform you of the young master's return at once."

Bruce turns to him sharply, already rushing toward the door. "Where is he?"

"Downstairs, sir. He seemed exhausted and said he would be taking a short nap until further notice."

"He is not hurt?"

"No, sir. He endured a quick check-up so I would, to use his terminology, 'stop fussing'."

Bruce will not let himself smile before he has seen Jason and assessed his well-being for himself, but he feels lighter than he has in days, knowing his boy is back.

The recording of his farewell has lost none of its magic over the years. Bruce listens to it when the hour is darkest and he in need of comfort. It's a ritual reminder of what he once lost once and what returns to him over and over again on the strength of a promise.

_It's only gonna be for a bit. I'll be back. I just want you to know that._

Bruce will wait until the end of time, just as long as Jason comes home safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Together and by Ourselves" by Alex Dimitrov. Consider also this line: "Him. He misses a person and he is still living."


End file.
